


Discontent

by Eienvine



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eienvine/pseuds/Eienvine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that Fitz doesn't appreciate Simmons' friendship, because he does. But what are you supposed to do when you think your best friend has fallen in love with you? Post 1x06.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So there has been much speculation about Fitz's face at the end of FZZT; I've heard people opine that he's realizing his feelings for her, or that he's realizing her feelings for him, or possibly that we're going to find out that he's bad which would be awesome because I'd love to watch Fitz try to be evil. But to me, what I saw most in his face was unhappiness. I have no idea if that was deliberate or my misinterpretation or just a weird choice on the actor's part, but either way, I decided to write a fic based on what it could mean if he was in fact unhappy. And then it grew way out of control and morphed from one part to three.

. . . . . .

The bunk is quiet and dark and, at that moment, feels very . . . safe, somehow. But maybe that has to do with the fact that his best friend is sitting by his side, whole and healthy, not dead in the Atlantic somewhere.

She's currently reassuring him. "Ward did an amazing thing, yes. But it wasn't Ward by my side in that lab searching for a cure. It wasn't Ward giving me hope when I had none. It was you. You're the hero."

"Yeah?" He smiles shyly.

"Yeah. Thanks."

The kiss she places on his cheek is sweet, friendly, grateful, and Fitz smiles to himself as Simmons leaves the bunk, scratching his neck and thinking how glad he is she's alive.

But somehow his mind can't focus on the good right now. Somehow almost immediately other thoughts creep in, thoughts of Skye talking earlier about their psychic connection—assuming, like so many people they'd met, that they were a couple. They've both always laughed it off because there is now and always has been absolutely nothing like that between them; he loves her of course, but the way you love a best friend, a sister—or in their case, even the way you love your own voice, your own hands, your own mind: you don't think about it because they're always there, but you could not function without them. Simmons is everything to him . . . except a romantic partner.

But that kiss—surely it was just friendly, he tells himself, but a part of his mind he cannot turn off has started to worry. What if, that little piece of him insists, it wasn't just a thank-you? There are other ways to tell a friend thanks. What if it was more? What if she has started to feel for you something that you do not and cannot return?

It's crazy, he tells himself. That's never been him and Jemma and it never will be. But still, he finds himself shifting uncomfortably and hugging the pillow closer to his chest, and he can feel himself frowning.

. . . . . .

The team doesn't often take meals together, but that night, by some unspoken agreement they find themselves gathering for dinner at the same time. Amazing how nearly losing one of your own changes things.

There's an advantage to eating together, Fitz sees, because he and Skye reach for their silverware at the same time and their fingers brush and he knows how juvenile it is of him but he can't help the little smile that flickers across his face. Skye just laughs and apologizes and hands him a fork and he wishes he had the courage to brush her hand again as he takes it from her—but he doesn't have that courage, never has. But still, he lingers over getting his drink so that he and Skye are heading for the table at the same time, so that hopefully he can sit next to her at the table without it being entirely obvious that he's doing so.

And maybe it would have worked—they do seem to be heading for two side-by-side chairs—if not for the fact that just then Skye glances back and sees Simmons heading for the table as well, so at the last moment, after Fitz has already set his plate down in front of one chair, the hacker veers left and takes the next seat down, leaving a spot open for Simmons to sit by her partner.

The sick feeling from earlier returns. Skye, at least, clearly thinks they're a couple, or at least, as one professor had once called them, a matched set. How can she ever notice him if she thinks he's already involved with someone else?

He can't move now—that would be too obvious—but he spends the entire meal talking over Simmons to Skye. Simmons doesn't seem to notice; she's deep in conversation with Coulson, across the table, about her thoughts on building up a supply of anti-serum for the Chitauri virus, in case anyone else comes in contact with items left over from the invasion. Unfortunately Skye seems equally enthralled by the anti-serum conversation, making Fitz's attempts at engaging her nearly impossible. Time, he tells himself. Give it time.

When everyone's meal is finished, Ward, of all people, unexpectedly holds up a glass. "A toast," he says. "To Jemma Simmons, who is smart enough to fight an alien virus and brave enough to give up her own life to save the team."

"Hear hear," says Coulson, lifting his glass, and around him the rest of the team does the same while Simmons blushes very prettily.

"Well, while we're making toasts," Simmons says, "I'd like to propose one to Ward, for jumping out after me, and one to Fitz, who would have jumped out after me if Ward hadn't beat him to it."

Laughter ripples around the table as everyone raises their glasses. Fitz smiles and squirms under the attention and can't help sneaking a glance at Skye to see if she's looking at him. And she is, sort of, or at least she's looking back and forth between him and Ward, which is at least a step in the right direction.

Then, without warning, someone is touching him, and he jumps a little. It's Simmons, ruffling his hair affectionately as she has done since they were students. And that Skye does see; he can see her smiling at them both in a sort of "Aw, isn't it cute" way.

See? asks that part of him that he's been trying to ignore. Simmons likes you, as in she likes you, and as long as Skye sees that she is never going pay you any attention.

And Fitz looks at Simmons, smiling broadly at him, and he looks at Skye, smiling broadly at them both, and suddenly he's not in the mood for merriment any longer.

. . . . . .

"Fitz, come take a look at this!"

Fitz glances up from test results he's reading to see Simmons standing in front of one of the large display screens, which appears to be showing a magnification of some sort of cell, though not any he recognizes. Probably they're more epithelial cells from the helmet; Simmons' brush with death has only made her more fascinated by the virus, and she's become quite passionate about studying it and developing more anti-serum. She's always been enthralled by the deadly and gruesome, and he isn't sure if that makes her brave or certifiable.

Right now, though, he finds himself rather less interested than normal in probing the depths of his partner's psyche; the lingering fear that she's fallen in love with him seems to be tainting all their interactions. He hesitates at his workstation, but when she repeats her request he sighs and joins her at the screen, careful to put more space between them than he usually does.

She doesn't notice. "So I've been attempting to study the propagation mechanism of the virus—how a virus can actually be propagated through an electrostatic shock . . ."

As she rambles on he lets his mind wander. This is the way they've always been; they both like to talk through what they're thinking about, and as a result he knows far more about biochem than most engineers ever would. So he's capable of understanding what she's saying, and in normal circumstances would have been interested in it. But these are not normal circumstances; these are affairs of the heart. He's been thinking it over since last night, and he's decided that the best thing to do is cool things off a little between him and Simmons. Not ignore her, of course; besides being his lab partner she's his best friend. But just to keep a little distance between them—enough that she'll maybe take the hint and prevent them from having to have an awkward conversation that can only ruin their friendship.

"What do you think?" Simmons suddenly asks, breaking him from his reverie.

He stares at her blankly. "I . . . don't really know what to tell you," he says truthfully. "This is really your area of expertise, not mine."

Simmons looks at him curiously, but before she can speak he returns to his test results. A few more days of this, he tells himself, a few more days of refusing to do the wonder twins thing, and she'll get the hint.

. . . . . .

Well, his plan seems to be working, because two weeks later when Coulson calls them all for a briefing, Simmons doesn't even sit on the same couch as him. Normally they sit together, closer than is socially acceptable—in their time together, looking over each other's shoulders at microscopes and computers, they've completely lost any sense of the other's personal space. But now she's sitting next to May. Fitz hides a smile and sits next to Skye, who is on the couch with Ward.

"Possible gifted," Coulson explains. "Kid from an Amazonian tribe. A trader saw him and reported he seems to be able to control plant growth. Since it's biological, Simmons, we want you on the ground as soon as possible to investigate it."

"Sounds like fun," says Simmons enthusiastically, and Fitz can't help smiling a little.

"There's a problem," May says. "It's deep in the Amazon, two hundred and fifty miles from the nearest airstrip big enough to land this plane at. Once we've landed, we'll have to have to grab a prop plane and then a boat to get there. We're looking at a half day of travel."

"And as this is a nomadic group that tends to move once they run into outsiders, we want to get on the ground as soon as possible, in case they are planning on pulling up roots and we're about to lose them to the rainforest." Coulson has his arms crossed across his chest.

"Solutions?" Ward asks.

"I'll land the plane and we'll travel upriver to the location with all our gear," says May. "But first we're going to drop you, Coulson and Simmons at the location to do observation."

Coulson looks at Ward. "You all right doing a tandem jump with Simmons?"

Not likely, Fitz scoffs to himself. They all know perfectly well Ward hates working with the two of them—and Skye, a lot of the time—in dangerous field situations. They hold him back, he claims, keeps him from doing his job.

So he's startled when Ward nods. "No problem. We've already done the last couple hundred feet of a tandem jump, after all." And Ward—Ward—cracks a smile at Simmons.

"All right, we're an hour from the jump site," says Coulson. "Gear up. Simmons, you'd better go figure out what you need to bring that fits in a backpack and won't break in case of a hard landing."

At this Simmons shoots Coulson an incredulous look and Fitz can only chuckle. She's right—given the complexity of most of their equipment, those are actually very tall orders to fill.

He catches up with her at the top of the stairs. "Take the DWARF prototypes. They don't have the quite the same flight capabilities and wireless range, but they'll do the job with any biological scans you need."

She stops walking and looks back at him, surprised. "Are you certain? We're jumping out of a plane into a rainforest. I can't promise they won't be damaged."

"They're just the prototypes," he shrugs. "And it makes the most sense."

"Thanks, Fitz." She gives him a tight smile and continues down the stairs.

She's so matter-of-fact about the whole thing that he can't help calling after her. "Aren't you nervous?" he asks, trotting after her. "You've never skydived before."

She chuckles a little. "I have once. I just didn't expect to survive the landing."

"She'll be fine," comes Ward's voice from behind them on the stairs, and Fitz pauses and looks back at him. "She's a tougher girl than we give her credit for." His words are to Fitz but his eyes are on Simmons, and when Fitz looks over at his friend, she's blushing.

. . . . . .

"She's crazy," Skye says, shouting to be heard over the roar of the boat motor. "But in an awesome way. I did not expect that when I met her."

"Simmons?" Fitz shouts back, clarifying.

"She jumped out of a plane twice," Skye says. "I think she's braver than me and I'm the one training to be a field agent."

So bravery impresses Skye, then? He needs an opportunity to be brave.

"Why didn't the two of you ever become field agents?" Skye shouts.

"Oh, that. Well, we—our field assessments weren't—we just never really wanted to, you know? We're very happy in our lab, making . . . very important scientific breakthroughs."

May, sitting across the boat from them, smirks at him, and Fitz sighs inwardly. Of course May knows they both failed their field assessments. May knows everything.

"If you're ever interested," the woman calls over in her usual deadpan way, "me or Coulson would be happy to train your for another attempt."

"You should do it," Skye grins. "That would be so cool."

Fitz doesn't think there's enough training in the world to turn him into a gun-shooting, karate-fighting, plane-jumping secret agent like Ward or May, but he doesn't bring that up. He's trying to look brave right now, after all. So he turns the focus away from him. "How's your training going?" he asks Skye, and to his surprise her face falls.

"Okay, I guess," she shrugs. "I mean, the actual stuff I'm supposed to be learning is going okay, but . . ." She sighs. "Ward's still mad at me. I mean, we're doing better than we were, and he's still training me and stuff, but we don't hang out anymore. When I walk into a room and he's already there, half the time he'll just leave. And if he walks into a room and I'm there alone, he looks super suspicious and asks what I've been doing, like he thinks he's just interrupted me sending SHIELD secrets to Rising Tide." She sighs and slumps back against the bench. "I think that's the thing I regret the most, you know? I mean obviously I regret all of it, but, like, you and Simmons forgave me, because you're like that. But Ward doesn't trust people, and after I blew that once I don't know if he'll ever trust me again. Maybe I should . . . I don't know, get another SO."

Across the boat May is watching them with raised eyebrows. "You know," she says, "if you ever want a break from Ward for a while, Coulson or I would be happy to take you on for a few weeks until you and Ward work this out."

"Thanks," smiles Skye. "But I think telling him I don't want to train with him anymore would just drive a bigger wedge between us. I'll stick with it—slow and steady, that's the key with Ward."

Too bad; her taking a break from Ward might have been a golden opportunity for Fitz. But at least their estrangement does give him more of a chance than he normally has. He gives Skye a sympathetic smile and she smiles back.

. . . . . .

"It's incredible," Simmons grins. "This boy does seem to be able to increase plant growth at a noticeable rate, simply by touching them. I'm taking back several samples of affected vegetation to look for any changes in the plants' cellular structure."

"And the boy?" May asks.

"Well, the language barrier is making things difficult, but from what I can tell, the tribe understandably refuses to allow us to take the boy in for further examination," says Coulson. "I would do the same in their case."

"So what now?" asks Fitz.

"Well, now that the boy's powers are confirmed, SHIELD will monitor the tribe from afar. That's all we can do."

"Especially given that we feel the boy could do little harm with these powers," offers Simmons.

"So we came all this way for nothing?" asks Skye incredulously, and Fitz sees Ward's glance slide to her, then away.

"Not at all," Coulson smiles. "You came to pick us up."

A few minutes later, Fitz has helped Simmons pack away the DWARF prototypes, which have been scanning affected vegetation, and is returning to the others when he hears Ward and Skye talking a few meters away, mostly hidden from view by the thick foliage.

"I'm sorry," Skye is saying, "but I don't understand why you're mad at me."

"Why were you questioning your orders like that? In front of your commanding officer?" Ward demands.

"Because I . . . am not actually a SHIELD agent?" she says in her isn't-it-obvious tone.

"And you won't be if you keep this up. I can train you to shoot a gun but apparently I can't train you to take any of this seriously. I absolutely will not recommend you be approved as a field agent if I don't trust your commitment to this team and to SHIELD."

"Why are you being so hard on me?" she demands. "It was dumb comment. It didn't mean anything." Fitz agrees; Ward is blowing this whole thing out of proportion.

"Because I'm seeing a pattern here," says Ward. "You never want to be held responsible for any of your actions."

Skye is silent a long moment. "So I take it you're still mad at me about the Miles thing," she says softly.

There's another pause, and then the sound of Ward walking away. When Fitz leans to the side to get a view of Skye's face, he sees she's crying.

. . . . . .

When the bus is safely airborne, May walks into the lounge where Fitz is reading a book and Ward is getting himself a drink. "So I was thinking," she says to Ward. "You've done really great work with Skye, but Coulson and I were talking and we feel it could be a good experience for her if I took over her training for a few weeks. I could get her started on flight basics and offer some insights on being a woman in this organization."

Ward has gone quite still, his face impassive, his grip tight on his glass. "Oh?" he says.

"Yes, when I was a trainee, I thought the rotations I did with Cecelia Jackson were some of the most important of my training. Being a woman in an organization like this is a different experience and one that you cannot speak to."

It's a reasonable argument, and if Fitz hadn't heard Skye and May's conversation on the boat, if he hadn't seen Skye's tears in the jungle, he probably would have bought it.

But Ward seems suspicious, like maybe he realizes how hard on Skye he's being, like he suspects she asked for this transfer. Still, it's a reasonable argument and it comes down from Coulson, so he shrugs. "Fine."

May nods and leaves the room, and maybe Ward has forgotten Fitz is there because he allows himself a moment to be angry, to slam his cup down on the bar. What Fitz isn't sure of is who Ward is angry at—Skye, May, or himself.

Just then Simmons walks in, clearly heading for her bunk, but when Ward sees her he calls out her name like it's forced out of him, like it's a reflex.

"Yes?" She turns and smiles at Ward. Fitz has seen her smile a million times but never quite like this, never quite so . . . girlishly.

"You told me you enjoyed that tandem jump, right?"

"Oh yes," she smiles. "That was very exciting." Neither of them seems to notice Fitz is in the room.

"Well look, I've got some free time coming up. What if I trained you to jump alone? Then if a situation like the one we just had ever comes up again, you can do it on your own."

Simmons looks surprised and pleased. "Well . . . yes, I would love that." She gives an embarrassed little shrug. "It would be nice to feel like I'm not such a burden to the team."

"Good," says Ward. "Tomorrow at ten o'clock. I'll come find you. Wear something you can move in."

He nods at her and leaves the room, his face still set in lines of anger. Simmons stands there a moment longer, that silly, sweet grin still lingering on her lips, and then she leaves too. Fitz watches them both go, a heavy feeling settling into his stomach. He'd wanted Simmons out of his hair and Skye away from Ward, but now that it's happened, he can't help feeling that things have just gone terribly wrong.

. . . . . .


	2. Chapter 2

. . . . . .

At precisely ten o'clock the next morning, Ward appears at the door of the lab, and Simmons stands to greet him, smiling. She's wearing workout clothes of some kind—loose-fitting black pants and a close-fitted shirt—which Fitz has been gaping at all morning because he didn't even know that she owned workout clothes.

"You all right in here without me for a while?" she asks Fitz.

"Of course," he answers automatically, but before the door has slid shut, leaving him alone in the lab, he wishes he'd said No, I need you in here to help me. But he would never have said it, not really; he might not be the most self-aware person in the world, but he does recognize how selfish that would sound.

Through the glass doors he watches as Ward leads Simmons to the wall where the parachutes hang, pulls one down, and starts explaining the various parts to her. The walls block a lot of sound so he can't hear them speak, but still, somehow, knowing they're out there bothers him. He turns his back so he can't even see them, but still, like an itch in the back of his mind that he can't scratch, the knowledge that she's out there wasting time with parachutes instead of in there focusing on her work (what happened to that virus you were so enamored of? he thinks irritably) annoys him until he can barely stand it anymore.

He focuses on his machinery, ignoring the figures behind him, as long as possible. Finally, he glances at the clock and sees it's 11:45—close enough to lunchtime for it to look like he's going upstairs because he's hungry, not because he's annoyed. With a sigh of relief, he leaves the lab and jogs up the stairs, steadfastly ignoring the scene behind him, where Ward is teaching Simmons how to fold and pack a parachute and she's laughing at something he said.

Upstairs he finds that Skye has had the same idea and is rummaging around for something to eat. "Hi," he says awkwardly, and wonders if he will ever not be awkward around her. Probably not, because he will never stop being bowled over by how beautiful she is.

"Hey," she says. "How's . . . lab work going?"

"Great," he says, because there's nothing else to say about his work that wouldn't bore her to tears. "How's training with May?"

She is still for a moment. "Great," she says cheerfully, but he caught that hesitation and now that he's noticed it he can tell that she's faking her good mood. "She's having me observe her flying the plane."

"That sounds interesting," he says sincerely, and she smiles.

"It actually is," she says, her voice growing more genuine. "Like, I'd seen it in movies and stuff but I had no idea how complicated it actually is. I will definitely not be able to fly a plane on my own for a long, long time."

"So you're . . . glad you're with May for a while?" he asks carefully.

"Of course," she says, and she's lying again.

He just looks at her, and finally she sighs and gives in. "I mean—yes, it is genuinely super cool, being with her. She knows how to do everything, and she's brilliant and cool and scary. But . . . I just wish it wasn't happening because my own SO is mad at me." She sighs. "I thought we'd worked it out after the whole Chitauri virus thing but . . . apparently it takes a long time for him to forgive people." She laughs mirthlessly. "And then knowing that he just immediately ran out and got a new padawan . . ."

Fitz shifts uncomfortably. "If it helps, I don't think that it's that he's moved on to a new student—I think he's mostly training Jemma to get back at you or something."

She makes a face. "I don't know if that helps or not." She takes a long drink from her glass, and he looks down at his hands, marveling. This is the longest conversation they have ever had; they usually get interrupted or he says something stupid and awkward and ruins it. "How are you doing down in your lab without your other half?"

"Fine," he says quickly, but she clearly hears something in his tone because she looks at him more closely.

"Really? It doesn't bother you at all that Simmons is downstairs right now, getting all pal-y with Ward?"

"No," he says as convincingly as he can. "She's my lab partner, yes, but we don't even work in the same disciplines. The stuff I'm working on right now, I don't need her for."

"That's it?" Skye asks skeptically. "That is genuinely all she is to you?"

"Genuinely," he confirms, though he doesn't quite genuinely mean it.

She eyes him for a moment, then shakes her head. "I'm sorry, but I've always assumed you two were secretly dating. Actually pretty much everyone assumes you two are dating. Or related." She pauses. "Are you sure you guys aren't a couple?"

He was so right—Skye thinks they're dating. Of course it doesn't follow that he was right in thinking that this is the reason she's never shown any interest in him, but still, it's vindication. He sighs. "I am quite sure we are not a couple. I have never thought of her . . . that way . . . at all. I mean, she's beautiful, and brilliant, and kind, but I'm not . . . she's my friend, that's it."

She still looks skeptical as she examines him a long moment. "All right, then riddle me this, McFitz," she says, and he finds himself flattered but also a bit annoyed at the nickname. "Why does it bother you so much that she's downstairs with Ward right now?"

"Bothered?" he repeats, baffled. "I'm not—"

"Please, you're the worst liar I've ever met. You're bothered."

"I'm—" He stops, hesitates, looks at her expectant expression, and sighs. "I don't know. I'm just—I'm a little bothered that she did this without asking me."

Skye raises an eyebrow. "So she needs your permission now? You know that she's a rational adult human being capable of making her own choices, right?"

"That's not what I meant!" It is what he meant, a little. "Look, Jemma and I . . . we have done everything together since we were eighteen years old. Every decision that either of us has made since then, we've talked about. So for her to suddenly just run off and start doing all this secret agent stuff—yeah, it bothers me, all right?"

"But you have to know that someday there won't be a Fitzsimmons, right?" Skye counters. "Someday, one of you guys is going to get a job offer that the other person doesn't get. One of you is going to get tired of SHIELD before the other one does."

"I . . . prefer not to think about that."

"And what does it matter?" Skye asks with a carefully casual shrug. "After all, like you said, she's just a lab partner. You can find another lab partner."

No, he can't.

He's being melodramatic, of course he can. But he doesn't want someone else. He wants Jemma.

"Well," she continues when he doesn't answer, "I'm proud of her. I mean, I'm mad she stole my SO. But she's expanding her horizons and trying something new and that's cool of her. And considering how often you guys end up in the line of fire, it's probably pretty smart of her too." She smiles cheekily at him and he has the uncomfortable feeling that he's not sure of her motives in this conversation. "And maybe someday she'll be a field agent and leave the lab behind."

"Please," he scoffs, "Simmons couldn't be a field agent."

Skye stops, considers, and then laughs. "Yeah, probably not."

But the damage is done; the seed of worry has been planted, and he knows he'll be wondering if Simmons is trying to leave the lab behind for a long time to come.

. . . . . .

They're parked at a SHIELD base in Arizona for a few days, and Ward takes Simmons on another tandem jump, then a solo one. When they walk back onto the bus after the solo jump, Simmons is exhilarated and laughing, and beside her Ward looks pleased. "Oh Skye, it was marvelous," she tells the hacker who meets them at the ramp with Fitz. "You've got to try it some time." At this Skye and Ward glance at each other, then glance away, and Fitz has again the feeling that everything is out of order.

He hopes that this means that Simmons is back in the lab with him full-time, but now that skydiving is sorted out Ward decides to teach Simmons self-defense, which she failed dismally at in SHIELD basic training.

"Aren't you a little worried about this cutting into your lab time?" Fitz asks her when he hears.

"Don't be silly, Fitz," she laughs. "It's only two hours a day, and you know perfectly well we have more downtime than that on any given day in the lab."

So for the next week she doesn't come into the lab until eleven each morning, and in the evenings, which she used to spend watching movies with Fitz, she practices downstairs or goes to sleep early, claiming that all this physical work is tiring her out.

Ward avoids the common areas too, and since May and Coulson are always off doing their own things, that means that Fitz and Skye are each other's company most evenings. A month ago that would have thrilled him, would have been the best turn of events he could have hoped for. But now that he's actually experiencing it, he finds it to be . . . not as thrilling as expected.

That's not to say that Skye isn't a fun companion. The more he knows her the better he likes her, and they bond over a shared love of Knight Rider. It's just to say that as she becomes a real person to him, not a mysterious beautiful unknown, the sight of her no longer makes his heartbeat race.

Not to mention that at least once a day she probes him about whether he misses Simmons, and it's making him crazy.

. . . . . .

"It's fun," Simmons shrugs, her focus on her microscope. "And it's good exercise. You know hanging out in this lab doesn't really encourage exercise."

"Who needs exercise," Fitz mutters, tapping his pen on the lab table.

"We do, Fitz," Simmons laughs. "I know you never wanted to do field work, but it looks like as long as we're on this team we're going to keep getting thrown into it. Wouldn't you rather be prepared?"

"Yeah," said Skye, who out of boredom has joined them in the lab this afternoon. "Why don't you go with her tomorrow morning? I'm sure Ward wouldn't mind another student."

"That's an excellent idea, Skye," says Simmons. "Fitz?"

No, it's a terrible idea, but as he looks at Simmons' smiling face, he finds himself agreeing.

It turns out he was right: it's a terrible idea. Ward is trying to teach them what to do if someone comes at them with a knife, and Fitz cannot for the life of him get the movements down. Simmons isn't much ahead of him in terms of physical strength or skill, but there's a certain grace to her movements—always has been—that helps her, and after a few tries she manages to disarm Ward.

"Well done," says Ward, and Simmons smiles at him, both of them ignoring Fitz who is behind them nursing his foot that Ward just stepped on.

"Well, I'm not quite Milly Dermount yet," Simmons says, and this makes Ward smirk. Fitz has no idea who Milly Dermount is or what that means, but based on the amusement on both their faces, he assumes it's an inside joke, and that bothers him worse than his hurt foot.

He suffers through the rest of the training session, but when he leaves it's with the resolution that he's never coming back.

. . . . . .

"She's allowed to have inside jokes with other people, you know," Skye points out over ice cream that night. "You don't own her."

"I know I don't," he retorts.

She looks at him thoughtfully, her spoon tapping against her lips, then shakes her head. "I think you know that, but you don't know it, you know?"

He blinks. "No, I don't . . . know."

"I think that this is the first time you've had to share Simmons with anyone, and I don't think you know how to do it." She points her spoon at him. "So even though you may know, like, intellectually that you don't own her, emotionally you can't keep yourself from feeling threatened by her growing in a way that you feel like you can't follow."

"What? Where are you getting this stuff?" he asks.

"I've been watching a lot of daytime talk shows," she shrugs. "But I think I'm onto something here. I think you're threatened by her friendship with Ward."

"Aren't you threatened by it?" he retorts, then immediately wishes he hadn't. They haven't really talked about Skye's relationship with Ward in a while, and it seems better that way—it makes both of them happier to ignore it, though for different reasons.

She looks down and fiddles with the cuffs of her sleeves. "Yeah," she admits after a moment. "I am. I keep telling myself that he hasn't officially transferred me over to another SO, so until then we still at least have that, but every time Coulson wants to talk to me I'm afraid he's about to tell me that my being with May is permanent."

"What does he say instead?"

"That I'm doing good work. And every now and then that I need to work things out with Ward."

"Easier said than done," Fitz commiserates. "That guy doesn't forgive easily."

"Or ever." She leans back in her chair and Fitz is surprised to see the sheen of tears in her eyes. "I think asking May to train me for a while was a mistake. I thought it would give him time to work past this but instead it's just driven us even farther apart. I never see him anymore. He hasn't said a word to me in four days."

She hangs her head and he thinks she might be crying and his brain goes into panic mode. This happens whenever he's confronted with a crying girl; his immediate response is to try to fix the problem and if he can't do that he just falls apart.

No, he tells himself, he can do this. What do people normally do in a situation like this? What would Simmons do? And he knows the answer to that question; he saw it when a fellow classmate failed a test and burst into tears in the corridor. Simmons comforted that girl and Fitz can comfort Skye now.

Standing and moving to the bench next to Skye, he carefully puts his arm around her shoulders. And apparently that was the right thing because Skye curls into him, her head on his shoulder, and lets a single tear roll down her cheek. Fitz stiffly rubs her arm and thinks that he wouldn't mind crying a little too.

. . . . . .

"Have you seen Simmons?"

Coulson looks up from some paperwork on his desk—leave it to Coulson to be in the most technologically advanced organization on earth but still like reading things on actual paper. "She and Ward took advantage of us being parked here and went to use the shooting range on base. Apparently Ward finished up her self-defense training and moved on to firearms."

Oh, well that is just perfect. Fitz nods his thanks and turns to leave, but Coulson's voice stops him. "Something wrong between the two of you, Fitz?"

"Not at all," Fitz lies. "Why would you think that?"

Coulson fixes him with that special look only Coulson can give, the one that says I admire you and respect your choices but I think you're full of crap right now. "Because I never thought I'd see the day when I'm more in touch with Simmons than you are."

"She's working on other things right now and why shouldn't she—I mean, she's allowed to have interests outside of me. I mean outside of our lab." He wishes he sounded more convincing.

Coulson looks at him a long moment, then goes back to his paperwork. Fitz wishes it weren't so obvious that Coulson still thinks he's right.

Back down in the lab, Fitz flops into a chair with a scowl. Simmons knew that he was testing and recalibrating the equipment and the DWARFs today—he told her last night. And yes, technically as the engineer it's his job, not hers, but she's always helped him. Every month since they joined SHIELD, she's helped him. And yes, he can do it himself, but without her it will take twice as long—at least the rest of the day, if not longer. He'd told her and she knows he expects her and needs her help, and she blew him off to go pal around with Ward, just because Ward is so handsome and such a good agent.

He opens the DWARF case and looks down at the robots, but when he reaches for them his hands are shaking, he's so upset. You know what? he tells himself as he slams the lid closed again. This isn't happening today. If she's going to slack off all day, so is he. He folds his arms over his chest and glares at nothing, and he is incredibly glad when Coulson's voice comes over the intercom.

"Come upstairs," he says. "We've got an 0-8-4."

. . . . . .

"So has your aim improved?" He doesn't know what's provoking him to speak, especially not in that tone—he'd rather intended to ignore her.

Simmons looks over at him and smiles, but it seems uncertain—maybe she read the irritation in his voice. "I think so, yes. I've still got a lot to learn but Ward says I have a very steady hand."

"Isn't that nice," he says snidely, poking at his tablet. In response, the robots shift position, examining the glowing box from the side.

Simmons opens her mouth as though to speak, then hesitates and looks around her. But no one is nearby. The field is nearly empty; May and Ward are examining the surrounding forest, and Skye and Coulson are at the edge of the field, talking to another SHIELD agent, the setting sun casting their shadows long and lean on the grass. So she does speak. "Is there something you want to get off your chest, Fitz?" she asks quietly.

He pulls his gaze up from his tablet to look at her incredulously. "Really? You have no clue why I'd be annoyed?"

"Uh . . ." She shakes her head and shrugs.

"Equipment calibration today? I told you last night."

"Equipment calibration?" she repeats, looking baffled. "You're the engineer. That's your job. It always has been."

He steps closer to her. "Well, yes, but you've always helped me, because you know what a pain it is." He finds his voice getting louder without his meaning it to. "It would take hours without you! I think it was very rude of you to leave me in the lurch like that." He doesn't mean to be picking a fight with her, but sometimes this is what he does when he's stressed, and now it's like all the tension of the last few weeks is pouring out of him. "I thought friends helped each other out."

And Simmons just stares at him, incredulous, and a frown mars her lovely features. "Oh, because you're such a shining example of friendship, Fitz?"

"What do you mean?" he demands. "I have always been a good friend to you."

"Oh really, have you been? Because I seem to recall that you have been blowing me off for weeks. Since Skye joined the team, actually."

He blinks, startled. "I haven't—"

"I'm not an idiot, Fitz. I've noticed how every time she walks into a room, you drop your conversation with me and go fawn over her. I've heard you downplaying our friendship when she's listening. And I've noticed that you've been very deliberately pushing me away for weeks now. Since the whole virus thing, I think."

Somehow it never occurred to him that she would notice these things. "I—well, I—"

"You know what? It's fine." She sets her tablet down on the pile of cases they're using as an impromptu lab table. "She's a nice girl, and you should be dating people, you know. I just didn't realize until now that you would turn out to be one of those people who blow their friends off when they're interested in someone. So go ahead and push me away if you think that will somehow increase your chances with Skye, but don't turn around and expect me to help you with your personal duties."

"That's not what I . . ." But his voice trails off, because as he thinks about it, he realizes it is what he was doing.

"You don't get to have it both ways, Fitz. You don't get to be my friend when it's beneficial to you and then brush me aside when it isn't." Her face is tense and he can't remember her ever speaking in such a harsh tone with him. "And you don't get to then turn around and get upset with me for not being at your beck and call. Especially when I'm away doing job-related things."

Her expression softens, just a little. "I'm sorry, I'm just . . . tired of you treating me this way."

They stand there in silence a moment, Fitz shellshocked, Simmons wiping a tear away. "Well, my analysis here is done," she says quietly. "I think I would like to return to the car."

She gathers her things and walks away through the tall grass, and Fitz watches her go helplessly. It's only after she's out of sight in the trees that Fitz turns back and realizes that Skye is standing a few feet away, staring at him in wide-eyed astonishment.

He winces. "How much did you hear?" he asks warily.

"Pretty much all of it," she confirms.

He sighs and rubs his neck, trying to think, trying to fight out the blankness in his mind that settled there when the most important person in the world to him informed him he'd been treating her badly.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

He looks at the ground. "No," he admits quietly. And in that moment the blankness in his head is filled by one thought, one shocking and wonderful and terrifying and true thought that fills his mind like ripples spread across a lake. The enormity of it nearly knocks him off his feet, and he slowly looks up at Skye as though seeing her for the first time.

Skye looks around hesitantly. "Look, Fitz, is what she said true? Because . . . I mean, you're a nice guy, but I am . . . just not interested in you."

He's still staring at her with that surprised expression. "I don't think I'm interested in you anymore either," he says slowly, trying out each word as it comes out.

Skye looks surprised but pleased. "Oh, really?"

He nods, still trying to make sense of this new revelation. "Actually, I think I might . . ." He finds he can't say the words, though, not when they're so new and frightening. But his gaze is fixed out over the field where Simmons just walked away.

"Really?" Skye grins. "Good. Because I've been on Team FitzSimmons from the beginning."

. . . . . .


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied—this will be four chapters, not three.

. . . . . .

Simmons volunteers to join the SHIELD scientists at the Seattle base as they examine the 0-8-4 the next day, even though it's in no way related to her areas of expertise. It's clear as day that she's avoiding him, and Fitz stays locked away in his lab all day, unwilling to deal with anyone as long as Simmons is still upset with him.

It's not how he expected today to go at all. When they got back to the bus last night Simmons went straight to her bunk and Fitz let her go without a word, feeling that giving her space might put her in a more charitable mood. But he was determined that beginning first thing in the morning, he was going to start fixing this. He was going to fix his relationship with his best friend and in the process he was going to decide what to do about the realization that something has changed in the last few weeks and his feelings for her are perhaps not quite as platonic as they used to be.

But now she's avoiding him and clearly this is going to be more complicated than he expected.

"You need to talk to her," Skye tells him over dinner.

"I'm trying to! But she's not even here. She got off the plane to avoid me." He sighs. "Besides, I think she'll appreciate it if I give her space right now. That seems to be what she wants."

"Isn't putting space between you two what got you into this problem in the first place?"

He narrows his eyes at her in mock anger and she smiles. "I'm just saying, sometimes you've got to give people space but you also have to know when to stop letting them avoid problems. Sometimes you've got to get up in someone's face and make them deal with you."

"Oh, really?" he asks with a half smile. "How's that strategy working for you and Ward?"

She makes a face back at him but she's laughing—ruefully, but laughing nonetheless—and his smile blooms fully. Things might be really messed up right now, but whatever happens, at least he's found an unexpected friend in Skye.

. . . . . .

Coulson crosses him on the stairs and fixes him with a look. "Fitz," he says, and Fitz knows what's coming, "I know you don't want to hear this, but I need you to work things out with Simmons. If I can't trust the two of you to work as a team, you're both useless to me."

"I know," Fitz says simply, because he does know. What he doesn't know is what to do. It's the second day that Simmons has spent with the Seattle team, and how can he fix them if he can't even talk to her?

Coulson's face softens. "And I'd like the two most cheerful members of my team back in good spirits," he smiles. "Things have been kind of gloomy around here lately."

Fitz couldn't agree more.

. . . . . .

Simmons' bunk door is closed, and Fitz does a double-take as he walks by. It was open earlier. That means she's back on the bus. That means she might be in there right now.

He stops, goes to the door, turns away, then forces himself to turn back. This is the moment, he tells himself, and knocks.

After a long few moments, it slides open to reveal Simmons standing on the other side, looking somber. "Hello, Fitz," she says, and she doesn't sound surprised to see him there, like she's been expecting this conversation.

"Hi," he says simply after a long pause, because now that he's actually here, all his carefully planned words are failing him and he can't remember what he was going to say.

"Look," she says awkwardly after a few moments of silence, and it's a surprise to realize that she's as uncomfortable as he is. "I . . . that wasn't very professional of me, to get upset with you like that in the middle of an assignment. I'm sorry."

And to hear her say the words he knows he should be saying jolts him from his stupor. "Can we talk?" he asks.

Her expression is still guarded, but after only a moment she nods. "Of course," she says, and moves aside to allow him access to her bunk.

The only place to sit, as always, is her bed. And normally that's not really an issue but just now it feels so uncomfortable because it forces him to sit much closer to her than she probably prefers, given their current circumstances. All the more reason, he thinks, to start talking right now, to do whatever's possible to erase this tension between them.

"Look, Jemma," he says, as she smooths down the material of her slacks, her gaze fixed on her knees. "You have nothing to apologize for. Everything you said to me was completely true."

Her face turns to him, surprised, curious.

"You're right, I have been a jerk to you. I kept throwing you under the bus when I was trying to get Skye's attention, and that would have been unfair to anyone and it was especially unfair to you, because you have always been there for me."

And now she gives him a tight smile and shakes her head. "I've been unfair too. I've been pushing you away too, the last few weeks—"

"Because I started it," he insists. "And I'm sorry, Jemma, I'm . . . I'm just so sorry. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you."

Her tight expression softens into a little half-smile and it's the first time in a week she's smiled at him like she's meant it.

"I'm serious," he says. "I will do anything. Just tell me what you want."

And she looks at him a long quiet moment, and he can see the last remnants of reserve melt away from her expression, and suddenly, to his surprise, her eyes are shining with unshed tears.

When she speaks, her voice comes out as a whisper. "I just want my best friend back."

His arms are around her before he realizes he's moved, and she throws her arms around him like he's the only thing keeping her from falling, and as he exhales in a long sigh of relief, he thinks it's the first time in a month that he's breathed properly.

"I'm sorry," he whispers again and again, and drops comforting kisses on the top of her head, and she laughs shakily and doesn't let go of him. He doesn't mind. He'd hold her all night, if she'd let him.

And if his heart is beating faster than normal at her nearness, if he can't help thinking that having her in his arms is so obviously right that he can't believe he didn't notice it before, he pushes those thoughts aside. This is about him and his best friend and he will worry about the rest of it later.

(The truth is, of course, that he's terrified that if he told her now about his change of heart that she'd pull away, suddenly cold again, and he'd lose her in the same moment that he got her back.)

. . . . . .

Somehow he'd thought that his and Simmons' reconciliation would mean she'd be back in the lab with him full-time, but when he leaves his bunk the next morning she's sitting at a table with Ward, learning how to clean a gun.

"Oh, hi," Fitz says dumbly, still trying to make sense of the scene. "You're still . . . I mean you're doing . . ."

Simmons smiles at him. "Yes, I'm not finished with all this firearm training. But I'll be down in the lab in a bit."

And because he's learning to be supportive Fitz, not selfish Fitz, he smiles and goes downstairs. But that doesn't mean he's happy about it.

Still, at eleven o'clock she's back in her usual place in the lab and it's almost like the last month never happened. Instead of long, fraught silences while the two scientists lurk in opposite corners of the lab, they're back to their old habits of calling to each other about every little discovery and frustration and triumph and he can't believe he let things get as bad as they did because he has missed this so much.

So when she calls to him to Come over here, you absolutely must see this, he goes without hesitation to stand directly behind her and rest his chin on her shoulder as they examine the plant sample on the table together. It's partly to reassure himself that she's here and they're okay, and partly to reassure her that he's here and he won't push her away again, and it's also partly an experiment to see if being close to her makes him as short of breath and goofily happy as it did last night.

Turns out it does.

. . . . . .

"Do you want to get something to eat?" he asks hesitantly as they reach the top of the stairs, and he supposes it's a sign that there's still weirdness lingering over their fight because it used to be that he never had to ask if she wanted to eat with him—it was understood that her plans for dinner and his plans for dinner were one and the same.

She makes an apologetic little face. "I have to go talk to Coulson," she explains. "He wants a detailed report on what the Seattle team learned about the 0-8-4." She pauses. "But maybe X-Files? Tonight in your bunk?"

His grin and his answer are immediate. "Definitely," he says, because they haven't watched X-Files in so long and also because cozying up with Simmons in his tiny little bunk sounds like essentially the greatest thing he can imagine right now.

"Good," she smiles, and then she casually ruins it. "You should invite Skye. She mentioned she's a fan."

"Oh." He blinks. "Um, yeah, all right."

"See you at eight?" When he nods, she leans in to kiss his cheek again, and then she's gone.

"Oh, you did it," comes a voice from behind him. It's Skye, of course, Fitz's own personal self-appointed relationship counselor.

"What?"

"Don't give me that," she grins. "I saw that kiss. What happened?"

"Nothing," he says. "I mean, loads. I apologized and we're friends again. But nothing like you're insinuating."

She lets out a theatrical sigh. "Fitz," she groans. "You need to do something. Like, A+ for friendship and everything, but what about . . . _more than friendship_?" And she leans in and raises her eyebrows for emphasis.

"It's not that easy," he retorts. "I mean, maybe it is for you, because you're beautiful and perky, but I personally find it very difficult to tell my best friend that I . . . have feelings for her." Good grief, he can barely force those words out to Skye. How can he ever possibly expect to say it to Simmons?

"Here, watch me it's easy." She clears her throat and puts on what is apparently supposed to be a charming smile. "Well hello there, Jemma," she says in the worst approximation of a Scottish accent that he's ever heard. "You're looking very sexy over there with that microscope. How about I buy you a Guinness and you can tell me all about the latest animal you're dissecting." She pauses, then asks in her normal voice, "Guinness is a Scottish thing, right?"

"That was so terrible that I don't even know how to respond."

Skye laughs. "But at least you're friends again. That's something."

"It's something," he agrees, then admits, "I just don't know how to move on from there." He pauses. "She wants to hang out and watch X-Files tonight."

"Perfect!"

"And she wanted me to invite you."

"Oh." There's a long pause. "Yeah, I think it's safe to say she doesn't realize you want to get all up close and personal."

"Well," he says with a sigh, "you're invited, anyway. My bunk at 8."

Skye examines him a long moment, then smiles. "I'll be there."

…

Skye tells them they can pick the first episode, and without hesitation they respond in unison. "War of the Coprophages."

"It's our favorite," Fitz explains in response to Skye's surprised look.

"We watched it all the time in college," Simmons adds.

"Because it's got a female biologist studying cockroaches—"

"—and a male researcher who thinks the cockroaches might be robots!" Simmons finishes excitedly.

"Basically it's us—"

"—if we were in the X-Files—"

"—except I'm not in a wheelchair—"

"—and my name's not Bambi."

Skye just stares at the them, but when Simmons' back is turned, she gives Fitz a pointed look. Fitz just smiles. It's been a long time since anyone finished his sentences.

Forty-five minutes later the credits roll and Fitz sighs contentedly. Somehow he and Simmons ended up side by side, leaning up against the headboard, with Skye in front of them propped up against Simmons' knees. It's perfect and he doesn't want to move, possibly ever again, so he's glad when Skye pops to her feet.

"My turn to pick," she says, and a few moments later a new episode has started.

It's a fun, lighthearted one, and it's not until thirty minutes in that Fitz realizes Skye's picking that particular episode might have been part of a larger plan. "Gosh, you two," Skye says suddenly, giving the fakest yawn he's ever seen. "I'm super tired. I'm going to go to bed. But you should stay and finish the episode. Good night!"

He stares at her as she disappears through the door, but there's nothing to do but shrug and continue the episode. And so they do until Agent Scully is speaking and suddenly Fitz knows exactly why Skye wanted them to watch the episode alone.

" _Well, it seems to me,_ " the red-headed scientist is saying, " _that the best relationships, the ones that last, are frequently the ones that are rooted in friendship. You know, one day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before. Like a switch has been flicked somewhere. And the person who was just a friend is . . . suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself with._ "

If Skye were still here, he would throw a pillow at her head.

But Simmons doesn't seem to pick up on the possible significance of the speech, because all she does is laugh quietly. "I'd forgotten how sweet this episode is," she says.

"Yeah," is all Fitz can come up with to say. He'd like to say more. Her presence beside him is warm and reassuring and he wishes he had the courage to do something—he wishes he had the courage to put his hand on her knee and ask Do you agree with that speech? Do you think it's possible to know someone for ages but not realize until years and years have passed that this person is the one for you? Do you think it's possible for friendship to turn into love?

And maybe, if she had done anything, anything at all—if she had spoken, if she had laid her head on his shoulder, even if she had just looked at him—he would have said these things. But she doesn't, so he doesn't, and when he goes to bed that night he curses himself for being such a coward.

. . . . . .

"You didn't even hold her hand?" Skye demands, and Fitz sighs.

"It's complicated, okay?" he says. "If I screw this up, I'll not only lose the girl I care about, I'll also lose my best friend and my professional partner. She is the most important part of every aspect of my life and this makes this kind of a high-stress situation, okay?"

He feels bad for snapping, but when he looks at Skye, her hand is to her mouth and her eyes are full of emotion. "You two are so adorable!" she gushes.

It is high time, he decides, to get her off the subject of him and Simmons. "How's training with May?"

He can see from her face that she knows perfectly well it's a dodge, but she lets it slide. "It's fine," she says. "I mean it's awesome; I can now throw Coulson over my shoulder, provided he sneaks up on me very slowly, and I can name two-thirds of the controls in the cockpit. So, yeah, it's great."

He hesitates, not wanting to push, but then he remembers what she said about sometimes needing to force people to deal with things. "Have you talked to Ward recently?" he asks carefully.

She sighs. "Yes. I passed him the salt once, he handed me a book I dropped last week, and just the other day we had a really meaningful conversation about the weather. It went on for at least four sentences."

He winces. "Still not great between you two, then?"

"I give up. Every time I try to talk to him, he's super weird and quiet and then he just leaves."

"If I don't get to give up, you don't get to give up either." He looks at her a long moment, then voices a thought he's had for a few days now. "How much of you pushing the me-and-Jemma thing is because you want us to be happy and how much of it is you jealous of Ward spending so much time with another girl?"

"That's ridiculous," Skye scoffs, and her bravado is entirely feigned. "I miss having Ward as a friend and an SO, but I don't miss him like . . . that."

Fitz just looks at her, and she looks back as long as possible before she cracks. "Seventy-thirty," she admits. "Because even if Ward and I never get back together, as friends or . . . otherwise," (here she blushes), "I would still root for you and Simmons." She sighs. "Someone on this plane ought to be happy."

. . . . . .

Three mornings later, Fitz walks into the lab at nine in the morning and, for the first time in several weeks, Simmons is already there.

"You're here early," he says, and he means for it to sound like a casual greeting but he can't keep the happiness out of his voice.

She looks up from her tablet and gives him a little smile. "Well, since you still haven't gotten around to your monthly hardware maintenance, I thought I would offer to help today."

There's an unspoken sentence in her smile, one that says she's sorry she wasn't around to help him last time but she will be around in the future, and he has a nearly overwhelming urge to kiss her right then and there. He imagines that's the first time the prospect of recalibrating spectrophotometers has elicited quite such a reaction from anyone.

But he doesn't kiss her because he can tell, from her tone and her fidgeting hands, that there's something more she's not saying, something she doesn't think he's going to like. "Is there anything else you needed to tell me?" he prods gently after a few moments of silence.

She gives him a rueful smile—you can always read me, she tells him sometimes—and nods. "Well, it's that we have to do it today, because starting tomorrow there's a . . . a little conference, for all the chemists at SHIELD."

"Sounds fun," he grins. A mini vacation with Simmons where they talk about chemistry with geniuses all day? What could be better?

"Yeah," she says, her face a perfect picture of apology and embarrassment. "The thing is, I'm the only one going."

His hands fall to his sides. "What?"

"They didn't want to leave the team without a scientist. Coulson needs you, Fitz," she says, and he knows perfectly well he's being placated. "Plus there's a limited number of spots available."

He is indignant. "I know more about chemistry than most chemists here," he says, which isn't completely true but also isn't exactly false.

"That's exactly what I told them!" she says earnestly. "But they pointed out that you are technically an engineer. They wanted to leave spots for people who were actually hired as chemists. Or biochemists."

It's all annoying but it's all true, so he sighs in defeat. "I'll miss you, though," he says, and he didn't necessarily mean to say that out loud but now that he has he's not necessarily sorry he did.

And then, because to be honest it's never far from his mind, he finds himself adding jokingly, "Just don't jump out of any planes while you're gone. Ward won't be around to save you."

And there's that apologetic face again. "Actually, Ward is coming with me."

"What?" he demands. "Ward isn't even a scientist."

"He's not attending, he's just escorting me there then being put on security duty." She leans in and lowers her voice like she's telling a secret. "Lots of important people will be there," she smiles. "Apparently some of them have asked about me specifically. As in, they want to meet me."

Her face is glowing but he can't smile back, because Skye's words are echoing in his head. _Someday, one of you guys is going to get a job offer that the other person doesn't get._ That's just him being a pessimist and nothing's going to happen, he knows that—but on the other hand he's not actually sure that he actually does know that and suddenly he's terrified.

He tries to joke. "Just don't have so much fun that you forget to come home." He'd meant to say 'come back,' actually, but 'home' works quite well too.

She smiles at him and squeezes his shoulders. "Don't be silly, Fitz. This is where I belong right now."

He smiles back, but all day long, as they test equipment and make notes, he finds himself distracted, watching her, standing so close that he can smell her apple shampoo. This will be the first time in almost a year that they aren't sleeping under the same roof, and he hates it already.

. . . . . .

"Have fun partying with all those geeks," Skye tells Ward awkwardly, and Fitz feels vindicated knowing that he's not the only one who gets weird in situations like this.

Ward just raises an eyebrow. "It's not a party, and they're not geeks," he tells her, but then his face softens. "But thanks. You guys have fun here."

They're all standing together on the ramp with Ward and Simmons' luggage. Coulson and May had other obligations, so Fitz and Skye are the send-off committee, but they're not a particularly peppy one—Skye is still uncomfortable around Ward and Fitz is morose thinking about six days without Simmons. Six days while she's talking shop with the brightest minds in her field, some of whom might want to give her a new job; six days of her hanging out with her new buddy Agent Handsome.

The jeep that's taking them to their helicopter pulls up, and Simmons smiles and steps forward to take her goodbyes. One hug for Skye, who accepts it with a surprised expression, and one hug for Fitz, who has to remind himself after a few moments to let go of her. "See you next week!" she says, and Ward nods at both of them.

And then they're gone, walking down the ramp with luggage in hand, leaving Skye and Fitz alone in the plane. They watch as Ward tosses Simmons' bags in the car, and they watch as a jumpsuited agent briefs the two of them on their flight path, tablet in hand.

But most of all they watch, with widening eyes and growing shock, as Ward—Grant Ward, stoic hands-off Grant Ward—places one hand very intimately on the small of Simmons' back to draw her closer into the conversation. They watch as the two smile at each other. They watch as he gives her his hand to help her into the jeep. Then they watch them drive away.

. . . . . .


	4. Chapter 4

. . . . . .

"It doesn't necessarily mean anything," says Skye.

"Or it means everything," says Fitz.

"It could have been friendly," says Skye. "That's something friends do."

"I should have seen this coming," says Fitz. "She spent so much time with him, she was bound to fall for him some time."

"Although he never really did that when we were friends."

"And why wouldn't she? He's taller than me, he's more handsome than me, he's stronger than me."

Skye's face brightens. "But," she points out, "he's my SO. Maybe he would have thought getting too informal with me was inappropriate, but since she's just a co-worker it's okay."

"Maybe I should start lifting weights."

Her face falls again. "Although that would mean that even if we become friends again, he wouldn't ever let it become anything more."

Fitz sighs. "I hate lifting weights. I'm like a Tyrannosaurus Rex—puny little arms. All my strength is in my legs."

"Stop being weird, Fitz," she says. "This is serious."

"Yeah," he agrees, finally looking up at her, "but right now there's nothing we can do about it."

And Skye sighs and falls against the couch because it's unfortunate but true, and he knows she hates it as much as he does. But there's really nothing to be done but wait.

. . . . . .

Simmons was right: Coulson needs him. But there's a disadvantage to being called away, he finds when he returns to the plane after a long day in the field: he's missed a call from Simmons, as he left his cell on the plane and she didn't take her earpiece with her.

"Hi, Fitz!" runs the cheery message she's left him. "I'm sorry I missed you, but I hope that means you're off doing something exciting. Everything's great here. Do you remember Dr. Miller from the academy? He was giving a lecture on his latest discoveries in extraterrestrial biology and he called me up to talk about my work on the Chitauri virus. Completely impromptu, absolutely terrifying, but it went really well and so many people wanted to talk to me afterwards! It was incredible!"

He can hear the giddiness in her voice and he finds himself smiling in return, but the smile can't stamp out the worry he still feels.

"Anyway, I'll tell you all about it when I get back." She pauses, apparently listening to something, then adds, "Ward says to tell you all that he hopes you all haven't been causing too much trouble for May while he's been gone."

She laughs and says goodbye and the message ends, and Fitz is left feeling more alone than ever.

. . . . . .

The tapping of his keyboard echoes through the lab, which feels positively cavernous when it's so empty and quiet. After four years with Simmons, he's not used to being alone—not at work, not after work.

So he's glad when he hears the door slide open behind him; Skye, probably, coming to chat with him, or Coulson with a mission. He's hurriedly finishing typing the line he's on when the newcomer speaks.

"I don't think I've ever heard it so quiet in here."

"Jemma!" he gasps, spinning around in his chair, and before he's made a conscious decision about how to greet her, his body moves of its own accord and he's on his feet wrapping his arms around her.

"Hello, Fitz," she laughs, hugging him back. "Did you miss me?"

"So much," he mumbles into her hair. "I finally got that prototype of the new concussion grenades operational and no one even cared about how I fixed the overheating problem." This is probably the point where most people would end the hug. He doesn't. "But I thought you weren't back until tomorrow."

She chuckles and extricates herself from his arms and he misses her already. "The only thing left to stay for was a cocktail social tonight, and Ward and I didn't really care to attend." That warms him through—maybe she'd missed him too—until she adds, "Everyone I wanted to talk to was leaving early anyway."

Still, she's home and that's the important part. Her duffel bag is still sitting on the ground, and he picks it up. "Let's go get you unpacked and you can tell me all about the conference."

"Deal," she smiles.

As they climb the stairs Ward falls into step behind them, his duffel bag in hand, and Fitz hopes that Skye's around; she'd be sorry to find out he was home and she'd missed welcoming him. And his hopes are fulfilled: he and Simmons are halfway to her bunk when Skye appears and her eyes fall on Ward, standing at the fridge.

"Hey," she says, and Fitz can tell she's striving hard for a normal tone. "You're back early."

And Ward pauses, then turns to look at her. "Hey," he says back, and his gaze slides down to the table, but then back up to her. "Yeah, we are."

What follows is one of the most uncomfortable silences Fitz has experienced in a long time, which Ward eventually breaks by picking up his bag. "Better go unpack," he says, and strides to his bunk, leaving Skye looking disappointed.

And Simmons, watching him go, sighs.

. . . . . .

"And then," Simmons says, carefully hanging up her jacket, "Dr. Hernandez talked—you remember Dr. Hernandez from that whole Cincinatti incident?—she talked about her ongoing study of organ functionality in gifteds with above-human strength. Absolutely fascinating. We've always known that the effects on internal systems vary based on the source of the strength, but she's studying patterns of system change across various strength sources. Professor Erskine's super soldier serum has still never been matched in terms of the amount of long-term system stability it provides the subject."

"Impressive," Fitz smiles from where he sits on her bed. "Did you run into Marilyn Barnes?"

"Yes, we got dinner together Tuesday. She sends her love, by the way. She was just reassigned to the Hub—apparently her research on mutations really impressed the right people. She was telling me about her lab—it sounds amazing." A half-smile crosses her face as she pulls her pajama pants out of her duffel. "Of course I love our lab, but the fact is that being on an airplane really limits the amount of space we have available."

His smile freezes on his face, and he can feel it getting ever more fake as he tries to decide how to respond. In the end he can't hide his feelings; he never could. "So did anyone try to tempt you into a fancy new lab?" he asks, his eyes fixed on the bedspread, and he knows how he must sound.

She pauses, her hands growing still where they rest on her now-empty bag, and looks at him knowingly. "It was mentioned as a possibility a time or two," she says. "But I told everyone the same thing." He raises a questioning eyebrow and she smiles. "That I'm happy where I am."

He gives a hesitant little smile. "Really?"

She sits down next to him on the bed, and if he leaned over just a little their shoulders would brush. He doesn't dare do it. "Really," she confirms. "I'm not done seeing the world yet, I get to be out on the front lines investigating amazing things . . . and I've got my best friend here." And she does what he didn't dare and leans over to nudge his arm.

He grins, his gaze fixed shyly on his hands. "I'm glad. I would miss you." And he looks up and over at her at the same time she looks up and over at him. They're so close now, and the bunk is so quiet, and her smile is so perfect, that he actually leans toward her—the sort of bold action he's usually terrified to take.

But in the end nothing happens—in the end he stops before she's even noticed that he's done anything—because the thought of Grant Ward has suddenly popped into his head, and the reminder that he doesn't know what's going on between the two of them overrides any amount of courage he can muster to convince himself to kiss her.

Simmons, oblivious, lays her head on his shoulder and sighs contentedly. "It's good to be home."

And Fitz, still haunted by that uncertainty and by the threat of Ward's absurdly handsome cheekbones, takes a breath, pauses, then speaks in a rush. "Did you have a nice time hanging out with Ward at the conference?"

"Ward?" She sounds surprised. "Honestly, we didn't see each other much; I was attending presentations and he had security duties to attend to."

"Oh," says Fitz. "Were you . . . unhappy about that?"

She chuckles. "Should I have been unhappy?"

"I mean, did you want to spend more time with him? Do you want to spend more time with him now?"

And now Simmons is lifting her head from his shoulder and turning to look at him in surprise. "Fitz, what are you saying?"

And he doesn't mean to be this forward but the question bursts out of him. "Are you and Ward dating?"

Simmons' face is a perfect picture of surprise, and then she starts laughing. He hopes that's a good sign, and it turns out he's right. "Sorry, it's just so odd having you ask me about my dating life," she smiles. "But no, we're not dating at all. We're not even interested in each other."

Oh, thank goodness. "I don't mean to be rude, asking like that," he explains. "It's just that . . . since we're all living here together . . ."

"It would affect all of us," she finishes.

"Exactly. And see, when he first started training you, you seemed . . ."

He can't find the word but she doesn't need him to. "I know," she says, and looks slightly embarrassed. "I had a bit of a crush on him after he jumped out of the plane after me," she admits. "But that never went anywhere and now, I can assure you, it's quite in the past."

"Really?" He fights back a relieved smile. "You just . . . stopped?"

"As I spent time with him, I realized . . . I don't know, the shine wore off after a while. And then he told me—well, I forced it out of him—that his interest lies elsewhere." She smiles ruefully. "And he said that this person is the reason he decided to train me in the first place; it was not, as I'd hoped, that he wanted to spend more time with me."

"That must have hurt," he says sympathetically, but his mind is still processing what she said and what it could mean.

"It's all right," she says. "We've become rather good friends now and I'm quite happy with things as they are."

There's a long pause while Fitz has a fierce internal debate, and then he speaks. "Was it Skye?" he asks. "Who Ward's interested in." It's not really his business, who Ward pines for, but it has absolutely become his business to be concerned about Skye, and from Simmons' hints he has a wild hope about Ward's little secret.

Simmons hesitates. "I don't know if I should—"

"Just tell me," he insists. "Please? Is it Skye? Just tell me that it's Skye."

She looks surprised. "You want it to be?" He nods and she shrugs. "Well . . . yes, it's Skye. He's very attached to her and it worries him a lot because he thinks feelings like that would interfere with his ability to do his job, so he's been distancing himself from her. And then he suspects she's still interested in Miles." She looks at him more closely, peers at his growing smile. "You're happy about this? I didn't want to tell you because you're . . . you know, quite fond of Skye."

She doesn't know, he realizes, and then thinks, Well, of course she doesn't know—I never told her. "Oh, don't worry about that," he assures her. "I have been very over Skye for a while now."

"Oh, good," she smiles, and his heart pounds a little faster, but then she adds, "I was worried about both you and Ward being interested in her—it seemed like it had to end in heartbreak for at least one of you."

"Skye really likes him," Fitz admits. "She's been heartbroken lately about him pushing her away this last month or two. I don't think it's occurred to her that he could be just trying to stay focused on his job. I wish we could convince Ward to tell her."

And at that Simmons starts to smile, her I'm-having-a-brilliant-plan smile. "Fitz," she says, "I think it's time we took those two in hand."

He's not sure what that entails, but he'd follow Simmons to the ends of the earth when she smiles like that.

"Okay," he says, then pauses. "What does that mean?"

. . . . . .

Two days later he's regretting agreeing with her. "I am never listening to one of your ideas again," he gasps between gulps from his water bottle. "I went into science to avoid running."

"It's not so bad," Simmons tries to smile, but he can see perfectly well that her face is brick red and sweaty and that she's leaning heavily against the railing. "It's good exercise, anyway."

"If this is good exercise, I'd rather die of heart failure at fifty, thanks."

"Don't be ridiculous, Fitz. Anyway we needed some kind of outing that would interest both of them, and as they're both supposed to be in good shape to be field agents . . ." She's referring, of course, to her plan to force Ward to stop avoiding Skye. Thus far it's been a bust: at lunch on Monday and at their movie night last night, Ward and Skye sat as far from each other as possible and exchanged minimal conversation. And this outing—making use of the track at the base they're parked at—seems to be equally unsuccessful.

"Look at them, they're not even anywhere each other!" Fitz points out, flinging his hand out in a sloppy sweep that takes in Skye jogging determinedly down the track and Ward, across the field, doing sprints on the stairs that lead up to the parking lot. "I don't think this has really worked at bringing them together." He shakes his head. "I guess we shouldn't be surprised that running laps isn't hardcore enough for Special Agent Grant Ward."

Simmons sighs and slumps against the railing. "I know. I pictured this working better in my head." A frown crosses her face. "And I think I'm getting shin splints. Isn't shin splints a thing? I don't know, I've never run enough to get them."

But whether or not it's shin splints, the pain on her face is undeniable and Fitz quickly puts his water bottle back on the bench and moves to comfort her. "Do you need anything?" he asks, and one hand reaches out to rub her back reassuringly but ends up hovering uselessly near her shoulder after he realizes she might not want to him to touch her when she's all sweaty.

She shakes her head and starts doing toe-touches—he's not sure that's the right thing to do for shin splints but he doesn't say anything because what does he know about running, really—while he averts his eyes so it doesn't look like he's watching her bend over. "This might have been a terrible idea," she says.

"Hey, it wasn't terrible," he says quickly. "It was just . . . not as good as you'd hoped."

She laughs. "Fitz . . ." she starts as she reaches for her water bottle.

But he never finds out what she would have said because Skye jogs up at that moment, drenched in sweat and looking exhausted. "I think I've had more than enough of that for today," she says. "Me and running aren't exactly best friends." She chuckles and takes a drink. "Although I used to be better at it—had to run from the cops more than once in the past. Miles has much longer legs than me, so I had to run hard to keep up." Fitz and Simmons both laugh and she tells them, "I almost got the both of us arrested once."

And while she's smiling at the memory, Ward appears behind her, clearly having heard at least part of the conversation. "So your boyfriend encouraged your delinquency? Sounds like a great basis for a relationship." But he winces as much as Skye does; maybe he regrets the mocking tone of his comment—maybe it was meant to be a joke, not an insult. Or maybe he regrets calling Miles her boyfriend.

And Skye, Fitz can see from her expression, is fed up. "Well, he had my back," she says tartly. "He never left me behind, or abandoned me, and he was always supportive even when I screwed up. And I'd say that's pretty important in any relationship."

Ward is silent as she walks away, back toward the parking lot, but now that Fitz knows what to look for he can see that the older agent is conflicted and regretful.

"Oh, dear," says Simmons quietly. "Maybe it's time to call it a day."

"Good," says Fitz promptly, but Ward shakes his head.

"I'll stay out here a while longer," he says, giving Simmons a look.

She looks apologetic. "I'm sorry, Grant," she says. "I didn't mean for—"

His face softens a little. "I know, Jem." And then he jogs away, leaving Fitz and Simmons alone.

"Oh dear," Simmons repeats.

. . . . . .

Fitz sees Coulson that night when they both go to the fridge at the same time for drinks. "I see you and Jemma have become friends again," the older agent says conversationally.

"Yes sir," Fitz smiles.

Coulson hesitates, then asks, "Is that all you two are becoming?"

And now the smile's gone. "Why does everyone on the plane feel like that's their business?" he demands.

Coulson is sympathetic. "You want people feeling like your personal life is their business," he says mildly, "try dying and coming back to life."

. . . . . .

Four days and as many botched matchmaking attempts later, Simmons has a breakthrough. "We're the problem," she tells Fitz. "We're always with them, so they talk to us instead of each other. We need to take ourselves out of the equation."

Her new plan is simple: they all have the next day off, as Coulson and May have a mandatory meeting to attend on base, and she invites Skye and Ward to come to the local aquarium in the morning. Fitz isn't surprised that Skye's interested in seeing the aquarium—she's Skye, of course she'd love looking at tropical fish—but he's shocked when Ward agrees. Maybe his friendship with Simmons has given her some influence over him, Fitz ponders, or maybe it's that he wants to be near Skye.

And the next morning, when the four of them have gathered in front of the lab, Simmons' and Fitz's phones beep at the same time. "Oh no," Simmons sighs as she whips out her phone, "it's from Fury."

Fitz looks down at his phone, but the e-mail is not from Fury. It's from Simmons, and the subject line is simply "Please play along."

"He needs us to run some simulations," she says. "Some 0-8-4 found at the bottom of the East River, maybe left over from the invasion. All his science teams are being called on to help process it." She looks to Fitz for confirmation, and he simply shrugs helplessly at Ward and Skye, knowing perfectly well that he's a terrible liar and if he opens his mouth the jig will immediately be up.

"I guess we can't come to the aquarium," Simmons sighs. "But look, I already bought the tickets last night online, and they're non-refundable; you two should go, at least, so it's not a total waste of money."

As she's not much better at lying than he is, Fitz is fairly sure that Ward and Skye know she's making this up, but to his surprise they both agree—hesitantly, but they agree, as though they're both willing to play along if it lets them spend time together. And when the two of them have disappeared in the direction of the base exit, Simmons laughs delightedly and clasps her hands together. "Let's hope they take advantage of this fine opportunity," she says.

"Yeah," says Fitz, "but what do we do now? It's our day off and we're stuck here working on a made-up assignment."

She turns a look of mock hurt on him. "When have I ever let you down, Leo Fitz?" And sweeping into the lab, she reaches into a cupboard and pulls out a colorful box.

"Explorers and Pirates," he reads off the box. "You got the new Settlers of Catan expansion!"

"I knew you've been meaning to buy it since it came out, but we've been on the move so much in the last few months—" She smiles and hands him the box. "So here. To officially say thank you for saving my life and for being my best friend."

There's a warm feeling in his chest and it grows until it blocks his throat a little and he has to swallow hard before he can answer. "Thank you, Jemma," he says softly, and sets the box down on the lab table so he can wrap his arms around her. It's been a long time since someone got him a gift. "Thank you so much. You are the— I—" But he can't force the words out, and after returning the hug, Simmons laughs and pulls away.

"I hope you're ready to take me on," she says, reaching into the same cupboard and pulling out a bag of candy—she really prepared well for this. "If you recall, I destroyed you in our last game."

"I was on painkillers," he reminds her. "You won't be so lucky this time." She laughs, and he smiles back, and the two best friends sit down to enjoy their game.

. . . . . .

Two hours later, Simmons sits back in her chair and smirks. "You're not on painkillers today," she reminds him. "What's your excuse this time?"

Fitz shoots her a dirty look, but he can't keep it up when faced with her smile, and he finds himself laughing. "All right, this time you won, fair and square."

Simmons looks pleased and stretches her arms above her head. "Come on," she says. "We've been inside for three days. Let's go for a walk or something."

Fitz makes a face—he doesn't really see the point of the outdoors—but willingly stands up to go with her. And they've walked to the top of the ramp when suddenly Simmons gasps and turns away. "Agent Sitwell!" she whispers.

Fitz peers out into the bright daylight and catches sight of a vaguely familiar figure walking across the tarmac. "The guy you shot in the chest?" he asks, but Simmons doesn't answer, busy trying to hide herself behind Fitz's body—not easy, given how slight he is.

He chuckles at her. "He's not coming this way," he assures her. "He's headed off to the control tower."

A relieved sigh comes from behind him, and Simmons peeks out over his shoulder to make sure the man is really gone. "Sorry," she says, not knowing that Fitz would never object to having her that close. "I just—I know Coulson smoothed it over, but I still worry a bit about seeing him again." She sighs. "He's a very nice man; I didn't mean to shoot him."

"Hey," he says, turning to face her, "you did it to save your teammates." But then he catches his breath because he's standing much closer to her than he's used to—they're always in each other's space, but never face to face, so near each other that he can count the freckles scattered across her nose. His heart starts to pound and everything seems to be so much louder than it did a moment ago, and of its own accord his hand comes up and brushes a strand of hair from her face. "You did it for me."

Her eyes are wide and surprised and she bites her lower lip and he blames that for what happens next, because now that his attention has been drawn to her mouth he can't possibly focus on anything else, and with a sudden surge of courage that shocks him, he bends down and presses his lips to hers.

For one beautiful moment they stand like that, one glorious moment where he believes she's going to let him kiss her, and then she pulls away and stumbles back a few steps, staring up at him in shock and something like accusation, and he feel like the floor has fallen away beneath him.

"Leo," she gasps, and under other circumstances he would have loved to hear his given name from her mouth, "what are you doing?"

Heat rushes to his face and he's sure he's as red as a tomato. "Kissing you," he mumbles, although he's pretty sure that's not exactly what she's asking.

"Why?" she demands.

It's a discouraging question, because he'd rather hoped it would be obvious. "Why?" he repeats, then thinks In for a penny, in for a pound, and blurts out, "Because I'm crazy about you, Jemma." He reaches out toward her, eager to touch her again. "You are the most— I am so—"

But she twists away, out of his reach. "No, you're not," she informs him.

"I'm not?" he repeats, a bit incredulous. "How would you know?"

"Fitz," she says reasonably, but her face is pained, "think about what you're doing. You were in love with Skye last month and then you got over it quite quickly. So what happens when you're over this next month?"

"I won't be," he insists, but she shakes her head.

"They'd split us up. Is that what you want?"

"No," he says quickly. The inexplicable bravery that made him kiss her is draining away quickly, and he has to force himself to speak. "I was . . . fascinated by Skye. She was, you know, new and different and exciting. But once I got to know her, I realized I wasn't interested in her. But you . . . I know everything about you, and I love everything about you. It took me much longer than it should have to see that, but now that I have, I'm not going to get over it." And he looks at his best friend, standing lovely and confused before him, and he speaks. "I love you, Jemma."

But she shakes her head again. "Leo, no . . ."

His body is very still but his mind is a maelstrom. "So I take it you don't feel the same way?"

"It's— I don't—" she says brokenly, and he sees that he's made her cry. Instinctively he steps toward her, and she shakes her head again and flees up the stairs, leaving him standing alone in the silence.

He doesn't know how long he stands there, trembling and clenching his hands into fists so hard that he thinks his fingernails digging into his palms might draw blood. He'd known this was a possibility, but he'd hoped so much . . . he'd hoped . . .

He's so distracted by his own thoughts and his own heartbreak that he doesn't hear Ward and Skye until they're right behind him. "I know that you asked May to take over your training," Ward is telling her, and as Fitz turns he sees them standing at the bottom of the ramp, as far apart as two people can stand and still be considered to be standing together. "If you were unhappy, why didn't you talk to me?" His voice is quiet but his face is a thundercloud.

Skye's isn't much sunnier. "Because you're so easy to talk to?" she asks. "Is that what you're saying, Grant? You're the one who got all weird on me first."

"Because I don't know—" He sighs and turns away, his face impassive but his jaw clenched.

Skye's expression is easier to read, and even through his own pain Fitz hurts for her. "Well, maybe it's good that I'm working with May," she mutters after a long few moments of silence from Grant. "Obviously the two of us can't even talk to each other." And she mirrors Ward's posture, turning away from him, her own jaw clenched, and suddenly Fitz can't stand it. He can't stand that everyone is fighting, and he can't stand that two people who care for each other can't get past their own issues, and he can't stand the pain in his mind and he has to speak out to drown it out, at least for a moment.

"You two are ridiculous," he yells, his accent more pronounced than normal in his heightened emotional state. Ward and Skye both look up at him in surprise as he walks down the ramp toward them. "And I am done watching you two tiptoe around each other and hurt each other." He stops a few feet above them on the ramp and points at Ward. "Ward, Skye is completely into you and only asked for May to train her because you've been so angry with her lately and she hoped it would give you time to cool off and forgive her." Ward's careful mask cracks a little and he looks over at Skye, who looks embarrassedly at the ground. "Skye, Ward is completely into you and has been weird around you lately because he thinks it's not professional of him and he's a little worried that you're still in love with Miles." He turns back to Ward. "Which she's not. It's all you, I promise."

The two agents look shell-shocked, but at least they're looking at each other now.

He knows he's too loud and he doesn't care. "You care about each other; you ought to be together." They're staring at him a little now, too, and he supposes it's because, based on the prickling behind his eyelids, he looks like he's about to cry. Which is true. "So for the love of Pete, will you do something about it? You are both driving me crazy." And he stalks off the ramp and across the tarmac without looking back, with no idea of where he's going to go next but a firm conviction that he can't go back to that plane any time soon.

. . . . . .

In the end he takes the free SHIELD shuttle from the main base entrance to the bus station at the edge of town, then picks a direction and starts walking. He's walked for nearly half an hour, his mind swirling with everything and nothing, before his emotional turmoil dies down enough for him to wonder where he is and realize that it's one o'clock and he hasn't eaten yet. He left the plane without his wallet but luckily happens to have five American dollars in his pocket. It's not much, but he looks at the menus in the windows of all the restaurants he passes until he finds one where his five dollars will buy him a stack of pancakes, which he eats in gloomy silence, not returning the smiles of the friendly waitress who comes by to fill up his water glass.

Then, entirely without money and more than a little lost, he keeps on down the street. He has managed to find his way into the center of town, he finds, and he wanders into the park around city hall and flops down on a bench. He's lucky it's a warm day, he supposes, as he didn't bring a jacket either. One tiny blessing in the midst of a pile of misfortune.

What now? he wonders. Simmons is convinced that their being together would ruin their partnership (and also doesn't care for him at all, though he doesn't want to think about that right now) but it seems to be rather too late for that. By saying something about it—by falling in love with her in the first place—he's ruined their partnership. Because how can he go back and face her? How can they work together in the easy harmony that they used to now that his confession is hanging over both their heads? How can he stand to be in such close quarters with her knowing now that any time he touches her or even gets close, she'll wonder if he's making a move on her again? He's ruined everything, and things between them will be so awkward now that eventually one of them will ask for a transfer. Or Coulson will just fire them.

He sits there in that park for nearly two hours, until he's sore from the hard bench, then gets up and walks around downtown for another hour. By this time it's nearly five o'clock, and, knowing that he can't avoid the bus forever—and that he has no money for dinner—he reluctantly asks a passerby directions to the bus station.

It's a half-hour walk back, then a twenty-minute wait for the shuttle, then a ten-minute ride back to the base, and by the time he reaches the tarmac the sun is nearing the horizon. The bus hasn't moved, but based on lights he can see on inside, he knows Coulson and May have returned from their meeting. Good, he won't have to wait for tonight for Coulson to kick him off the team for his failed attempt at fraternization.

The ramp is down but the whole lower level is dark and empty, and Fitz steps quietly as he walks on board and climbs the stairs. He'll have to face Simmons—and Ward and Skye, who are undoubtedly curious about his outburst—some time, but he is going to put it off as long as possible, thank you very much.

He's deep into another round of mental self-castigation when he reaches the lounge, and the sight that meets his eyes distracts him, just for the moment, from his internal conflict. The TV is showing The Bourne Identity, and there on the couch, looking as awkward as two teenagers on their first date, are Skye and Ward. But the important thing is that they're sitting close enough that their legs are touching. The important thing is that he's holding her hand. And this pierces Fitz's cloud of self pity long enough to make him smile; at least something good came out of today. After all, as Skye once said to him, someone on this plane ought to be happy.

They don't notice him until the sound of him opening the fridge distracts them from their movie, and Skye smiles at him but immediately her face falls into a questioning expression and she opens her mouth, obviously intending to ask him about earlier. He shakes his head at her and she falls back against the couch, sending sympathy and support across the room with her eyes. He smiles back, a little shakily, and turns back to the fridge.

There's half a sandwich inside, left over from his dinner last night, and although he knows eating it will only remind him of the girl who made it for him, he doesn't want to stay in the lounge any longer; he's ruining Skye and Ward's date already. So he grabs the sandwich then looks around; he'd intended on going to his bunk, but Simmons' door is closed which probably means she's in there and he finds that he wants to stay as far from her as possible for the moment. So he goes back downstairs, grabbing a bottle of soda as he leaves the lounge, and sits cross-legged at the top of the still-open ramp. There's such a beautiful sunset tonight, and it almost distracts him from his thoughts for a moment. Almost.

And he's halfway through his sandwich before he hears footsteps on the stairs; he hadn't expected them to give him this long to be alone, and he appreciates that they waited a while. He doesn't turn around, certain that Skye or Coulson or whoever has come to comfort (or fire) him will make themselves known soon enough.

And he's right. "Hello, Fitz," comes a soft voice from above him, and he can't help the too-loud deep breath that he takes to steady his nerves. There's a rustling of cloth, and then Simmons is sitting cross-legged next to him. He doesn't look at her—he can't look at her. Not yet.

"About earlier—" she starts.

"We don't have to talk about it," he interrupts, still looking down at his sandwich.

She's silent a moment. "I want to talk about it," she says quietly. He doesn't respond; there's nothing he can say, and they sit in silence a long time.

Finally Simmons speaks. "When we met," she says, "I was so in love with you." At that his gaze snaps to her, but she's looking determinedly at her hands in her lap, so he looks back at his sandwich. "I mean, not right off, but do you remember that first October, that time when we talked all night in the student union building after that visiting scholar lecture? I was smitten after that; you were so many things I'd always wanted. But then that spring you had that massive crush on Christina, do you remember?"

Fitz shivers a little—the night has turned cool—and keeps his gaze firmly away from her.

"And she was so many things I'd never be—so beautiful and sophisticated and fashionable, and I thought if that was the kind of girl you fell for, you'd never fall for a girl like me. So I made myself stop." She laughs without mirth. "You can make yourself stop feeling a lot of things, if you try hard enough. Or at least you can bury those feelings. I told myself that you were my friend and that was enough, and it became true. You became the best friend I'd ever had and I never wanted anything else, after that first year. Never even considered it . . . until this morning."

She pauses and he dares a glance over to her knee, but no nearer her face. What is she saying?

"And then you . . . kissed me—" (he knows the shadings of her voice to know she's blushing right now) "—and suddenly it reminded me of things I spent a long time ignoring." Out of the corner of his eye he can see she's turned to look at him, but he doesn't look back. "And in a lot of ways it's a bad idea. You know that, right? So many things could go wrong. That's why I was so . . . aghast this morning. But . . ." Her gaze drops back to her lap. "But here's the thing, Leo. I made myself stop thinking about all the things I loved about you all those years ago, but that doesn't mean they went away. That doesn't mean I stopped being aware of them. And now, after this morning—I haven't been able to think about anything else all day."

And now she's looking right at the side of his face; now her hand is on his arm, urging him to turn to her. "And this is a lot to take in all at once and I'm a little freaked out just now, but this could be . . . I mean, you're wonderful and funny and smart and good, and . . . I want to try this. If you still want to."

And finally he looks up, into her hopeful face, into her beautiful beloved eyes, and he can see she means it and there's a funny feeling in his stomach like he might float away like a balloon. "I do," he says fervently, and the dark cloud that's been lurking over his head all day is banished by the sunlight of her smile.

"Fitz . . ." she begins, beaming, one hand coming up to caress his cheek.

"Keep calling me Leo," he smiles, taking her free hand in his. "I think I like it."

"Leo," she repeats, laughing a little. "Can I kiss you?"

He blinks, surprised. "Yes," he blurts out quickly. "I mean, yeah, if you want to. I would love that."

And this one is so much better than this morning's because she leans into it, putting one hand on his shoulder for balance, and kisses him in a way that gives him hope for the future—for their future. Then she rests her head on his shoulder and he takes her hand and they watch the last of the sun slip behind the horizon.

After a long blissful period of just enjoying the feeling of one another, she suddenly laughs. "By the way," she says, "did you see Ward and Skye upstairs? My aquarium plan worked."

No, my yelling at them worked, he thinks, but he says nothing. This is a perfect moment—the first of many perfect moments, he hopes—and he's not going to spoil it. After all, it certainly took them long enough to get here.

. . . . . .

"Two in one day," says May drily, looking up at the security camera feed.

"Pretty impressive timing, really," smiles Coulson.

"I told you, putting four attractive young people in a tiny box for months on end—this was bound to happen sooner or later."

And Coulson smiles again. "I don't really mind," he admits.

But May looks stern. "Skye's already a higher risk than some people in the organization are comfortable with," she points out. "If Ward hurts her, she could very easily turn."

"Ward won't hurt her," says Coulson with certainty, and when May raises an eyebrow at him, he explains, "He's had enough terrible relationships, with his family and this job, that when he finds someone he's willing to invest in, I get the impression he takes that commitment quite seriously."

"All right, what about these two?" she says, jerking her head toward the screen.

"Fitzsimmons?" he asks, looking at the feed where their resident biochemist is resting her head on the shoulder of their resident engineer. "They were going to happen eventually, regardless of what I think. Besides—" And he quirks an eyebrow at May. "They're kind of sweet together, don't you think?"

May rolls her eyes and turns off the screen, but when she turns back to him there's the tiniest spark of warmth in her eyes. "You're ridiculous," she says.

"Hey," he says, "someone on this plane ought to be happy."

. . . . . .

fin


End file.
